I Love You is Eight Letters, So is Bullshit

xXx :: Five : Years : Later :: xXx

I slide the door to the large corporation building open, stepping into the place as if I own it. Might as well, seeing as I am currently Vice President soon to be share-holder in the firm. I graduated college just only a year ago, but a friend of mine had connections. Hmm . . . boy did he have connections. The people were well pleased with my mannerisms, crisp, precise, efficient and unattached. We work in the music industry after all. I do the marketing, selling, advertising, and designing for various different bands, mainly staying inside the rock, metal, heavy metal, grunge, indie, and punk categories as much as I can though. Sailing through the main lobby, I catch the tail end of the many whispers that follow me. Around here people don't mess with me, they listen to what I have to say, do what I ask of them, and continue on their merry way. They know exactly what happens to them if they mess up on something or another, trust me, they know very well. Half of them by experiencing at testing out the new, fresh-out-of-college, twenty-two year old girl.

Oh, boy, did I prove them wrong.

I chuckle to myself as I enter the elevator, the quiet chatter that was taking placed smoothed down to utter silence, the people casting uneasy glances at each other. I smile politely at each one, pressing the button for the top floor as I go through my *oversized bag to find my picture I.D. to scan. Only the high corporate officials can get into the floors labeled 35-40, and that's only with aid of the small magnetic strip on the back of our I.D. tags, or as I like to call them Slave Tags. I might be VP but I still love doing my job so, of course, I work long and hard.Not like I have anyone else to worry about. Finally the elevator is cleared and I fix myself in the mirror to look presentable for Mr. Giomani.

Tugging down the *white tank top that I have underneath my *short-sleeve Jack Daniel’s whiskey top also making sure that my *vest hangs correctly, before hitching my fingers into the loops of my *black leather skinny jeans to situate them better on my hips, admiring my *shoes in the whole process. The bell tings to notify me that I need to insert my pass, and I do so, entering the small PIN number that follows before the five second ride to level 37 begins.

Mr. Giomani *Eric is waiting at my desk, shifting through a folder with different sized, from what I can tell, papers. He looks up and his jaw pops open.

"Goddamn, Estella, you're really out to kill today, aren't you?" He grumbles, rolling his eyes heavenward. I laugh, going around my desk and perching my purse on the stool behind me before plopping down into the soft rolling chair.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I grin back like the cat that ate the canary.

He grumbles some more, his eyes narrowed, saying something about fidelity. I continue to laugh. Eric is around thirty and has tried many times to get me to go out with him. Each time I have turned him down, knowing that our relationship would never work because I just don't function in one of those, a relationship that is. It's too much of a job risk on my part.

"Oh, hey, Stellar," I roll my eyes at the nickname, clicking my tongue. He chuckles lowly. "We have some high priority rockers coming in today and you’ve been assigned to them."

"Make me proud," he pauses for a moment before adding this clause, "Oh, and my dad."

Yes, you heard, or well read, correctly he said dad. Eric's father was the man that began all of this; building his status up to what Eric now maintains as a mutli-millionaire.

"Wow, Eric, way to set the standards low!" I call to him, filing away some designs for later so that I can review today's client. What I see makes me want to puke, cry, and scream all at once. If only I were that talented.

Today is going to be a day from hell.

"Eric!," I shriek, dropping the folder. Of course, I get no reply. Stupid bastard. I stand from my desk, stomping over to his office and slamming the door open.

"No. No. No." I stomp my foot like a small toddler that's not getting her way, my eyes ablaze with determination.

"What? Why not?"

"I refuse to work with, deal with, talk to, or even see Brian Haner. Period," I growl, crossing my arms across my front.

His jaw pops open again for the second time as I come around to behind his desk standing in front of him, and resting my hands on his upper thighs. My fingers trail up and down, as I lean forward. If all else fails, resort to sex appeal.

"Give the job to someone else," I whisper breathily in his ear, tightening, only slightly, my grip on his leg. He nods enthusiastically, and I smirk against his neck, pulling back.

"Thank you," I murmur, my eyes sparkling as I look down at him.

He lets a chuckle slip past his lips, barely even touching mine with his own. "I thought you didn't want to do anything."

I shrug my shoulders, fingers trailing over his thin tee-shirt. "Only because I don't feel like losing my job."

He laughs, "Stellar, even if we were to break up, you're the best I've got. I would get murdered and celebrated if you were fired."

I chuckle, nuzzling my nose along his neck. "The celebrated portion is what I worry most about."

His hands reach up to frame my waist, pulling me down onto his lap as we swivel in his chair, facing towards his computer.

"Eric!" I whine, "I have to go assign someone to that folder."

He chuckles, "Don't worry, I got it." His hands reach around me and begin typing furiously across the keys in front of us, sending out an e-mail to one of the lower executives named Meghan. I laugh, laying my head on his shoulder comfortably. No use in fighting him, he's so much stronger than me that it's not a likely chance of escape.

I hear one, single hard knock at the door, before Eric calls 'come in'.

"Let me the fuck up," I whisper harshly towards him. He laughs, opening his arm and allowing me to stand. Too late, the people that I recognize so very well are standing crowded around the door, jaws agape.

I roll my eyes, mumbling 'jackass' as I pass by the big group, earning myself a chuckle from a short man with a mohawk. I raise a haughty eyebrow in his direction, my eyes going cold in two-point-oh seconds flat. I feel a hand wrap around my forearm, and my head immediately snaps to the side. Matt, of course. I rip out of his grip, continuing on my merry way.

"Rick!" I know he hates that nickname as I hear him groan loudly. "I'm out for the day."

"The fuck you are!"

Gathering my things, I head for the double, shiny elevator doors. "Good! Glad we are in agreement."

I turn around to come face to, well, nose with the one person I've been trying to avoid.

"Move, please," I say, even and polite as possible.

A smirk uplifts his lips, and my bicep tightens with the urge to punch it off. I restrain luckily for Eric, and step around him ... as he steps with me.

"Move, please," I growl through clenched teeth, my eyes narrowed into miniscule points on my face. I'm sure if looks could kill he'd been dead ages ago.

I go to move again and he stops me. "Get the fuck out of my fucking way."

He seems shocked that'd I speak to him like that and I manage to step around him, my bag in the crook of my arm and my I.D. back around my neck.

"Eric, my house, seven, be there or else I get a week of vacation."

"Fine, lovely!"

I bark out a cold laugh, sliding into the elevator with graceful ease, and pressing lightly on the lobby floor's button, awaiting the calm peaceful day to come.